


the night before

by zooeyscigar



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, No Sex, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Harry, Not Cheating, but also not quite poly, tho they get real close multiple times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-05 10:44:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11576466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zooeyscigar/pseuds/zooeyscigar
Summary: A press junket for a Hollywood blockbuster is like nothing else under the sun.Harry was exhausted. Dead on his feet. Bloody well knackered for what seemed like no reason.He’d done press engagements before — hell, he’d practically grown up in front of cameras with naff buggers asking the most awkward questions. But this...





	the night before

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Faerieoftara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faerieoftara/gifts).



> I really would never have expected to write RPF, especially not in this fandom because what even is pop music, but...
> 
> Harry Styles exists. Which means nonbinary!Harry is possible. Soooo here I am. 
> 
> Also the solo album exists, and now the amazing movie, too, and.... yeah. *sighs*
> 
> And Tara is such a great person to squee with, so I wrote something for her.

Harry was exhausted. Dead on his feet. Bloody well knackered for what seemed like no reason. 

He’d done press engagements before — hell, he’d practically grown up in front of cameras with naff buggers asking the most awkward questions. But this...

A press junket for a Hollywood blockbuster is like nothing else under the sun, and his skin felt baked by the camera lights and the fake smiles as if he’d been stranded on a beach all day without sunscreen. His eyes were dry, his throat too — no matter how many bottles of water he’d cracked open, they’d always disappeared before he could finish them.

But mostly it was his face. He thought he’d worked his smiling muscles until they were in top form while with 1D, but nine hours of being unfailingly polite and charmingly boy-next-door with one “journalist” after another was more than even his cheeks could take. 

He yawned and stretched his back with his arms high above his head, revelling in that cool breath of air on his belly where his shirt pulled away. Then he rubbed his palms over his face muscles briskly, trying to bring himself back to zero. No affect in his voice, no expression on his face, no perfectly tousled hair... 

And no trousers. 

Before he’d been in his hotel suite for a full minute, he’d flung off every stitch of clothing except his shirt. It was flowey and thin and felt like a pretty bit of nothing, and it came to just below his hips, so... that was decent enough, wasn’t it? It certainly felt more right than anything he’d had to wear for this whole press nightmare.

He very nearly let himself flop onto the sofa and remain there for the foreseeable future in an aspect more liquid than solid, but his body miraculously stayed upright and drifted of its own accord toward the hotel phone. Some of his mates from the film were going out later, and he vaguely considered ringing up one or two to see about the details, but his fingertips only tapped on the handset for a moment before he was leaning over the arm of the sofa for his trousers and fishing his mobile out of the back pocket. 

No texts, no calls, no app notifications. 

Well, none from the person he was always half-hoping to hear from. 

Stretching out across the full length of the sofa, he luxuriated in a truly self-pitying sigh and ran his hands through his too-short hair. He still couldn’t get used to how little of it he had. It‘d taken ages to get to a length that made him feel, well,  _ right, _ and he didn’t relish the time it would take to get back to what he’d come to think of as normal. And in the meantime, everything remotely masculine he wore with this haircut felt too butch. Balance was key, yet seemingly unattainable. 

He’d just allowed himself a second shattering sigh before he needed to pull himself together and do something about a late dinner, which probably meant ringing room service, when there was a soft knock on the door to the hall. It sounded very much like his personal assistant’s polite insistence. 

“Em, I’m not decent. And I’m already asleep, I swear to God. Can’t it wait until morning?” 

The door started to slowly creak open anyway. Harry just stared at it for a moment before having the presence of mind to cover his lap with a throw pillow. 

“Emma, I’m serious. I haven’t even got pants on—”

The fingers that curled around the door were definitely not Emma’s, and for a jumpy second Harry feared it was some stalkery fan. That is, until the eyebrow that quirked from behind the edge flooded him with relief, even as it made his heart skip hard against his sternum. 

Zayn stepped in, tentative and apologetic as he gently closed the door behind himself.  _ Bleeding hell but he’s a sight for sore eyes.  _

“Fuck, Zayn. Jesus,” Harry exhaled as though he’d been holding his breath for a full minute, which he probably had been. 

“Hey.” Zayn stood, head bowed and with his hands behind his back, as if he couldn’t be sure whether he was allowed in. As if he didn’t know how deeply he was wanted in any and all of Harry’s spaces, wherever he was, whenever. 

“C’mere, you nob. What’re you doing here?” Harry nudged himself only sort of upright on the sofa and stretched out his arms, making grabby hands at Zayn like the needy slob he was. 

“I dunno. Emma said it was all right. Now I’m not so sure. Haven’t you got playtime with the new squad tonight?” Only a trace of bitterness crept into the question — so little that no one else would have noticed save Harry — and it cut him to hear it. 

“They’re complete darlings to ask me out, but I’m not feeling up to other people tonight.” 

Zayn paused in his prowl toward the sofa, his eyebrows high and his gaze going glassy. He hooked a thumb over his shoulder and began, “Maybe I should g—”

“No fear!” Harry lunged forward and grabbed at Zayn’s wrist to pull him down, but he missed, and fell back against the sofa cushion, defeated. “ _ You’re  _ not other people, for fuck’s sake.” And, because Zayn was smiling with his tongue behind his teeth but hadn’t moved any closer, the bastard, Harry added — whined, really,  “Come heeeeeeere.”

“You’re fucking naked, look at you.” Zayn may have been taking the piss but he stepped closer as he did, and Harry’s heart rate rose.

It was true he probably looked a bit louche lying there on the sofa, bare legs splayed, shirt open to his navel. At least he hoped the picture he cut was more rakish and enticing than just plain slutty. 

“And? I’m in my own room, the curtains are drawn, the door is locked now you’ve shut it, and I’m not called for anything pressing until tomorrow afternoon.” He reached out, wanting to hold Zayn’s hand, but, insecure coward that he was, he stopped just short and waited for Zayn to entwine their fingers together.

“What exactly are you implying with all that, then?” Zayn’s smile danced in his eyes as he lifted their clasped hands to his mouth, ghosting his breath over Harry’s knuckles but taking forever to make actual contact with his lips.  _ The tease. _

“Basically that I’d really appreciate it if you were also naked and wanted to spend the night in my bed.” 

“Ah. Straight to the point.” 

“Never straight, darling. But I see no reason to beat around the bush.” 

Zayn nipped at Harry’s knuckle, sharp enough to elicit a tiny gasp in response, one that showed the effect Zayn had on him — had always had. Would always have. When he looked up from Harry’s hand to catch his eye, Zayn’s pupils were blown black, his dark eyes now fathomless.

A tiny “oh” came unbidden from Harry’s lips, and Zayn quirked a filthy-beautiful sideways smile at him.  _ Kryptonite. _ Harry fairly whimpered at the sight. 

That deadly smile sharpened as Zayn growled, “It’s rude to not offer your guest a seat, sweetheart. Why don’t you move that pillow and make room for your man?”

Harry’s face flushed hot as he pulled himself upright to make his lap a proper seat and tossed the pillow to the floor. Unable to meet Zayn’s gaze as he straddled Harry’s bare hips, Harry murmured, “Too many clothes.” 

“Then take care of it, love.” Zayn’s mouth was at Harry’s ear, and no matter how familiar the sensation was after years of performing together, the breath tickling his hair and the bottom lip brushing his earlobe sent a hard shiver down his spine. Of course the bastard knew the exact effect he had on Harry, and the low laugh in his voice proved it. “Go on, babe. Do as you’re told.”

A searing spike of lust went through Harry at that, but he was proud to see his fingers barely trembling as he unbuttoned Zayn’s shirt. He licked his lips and took a deep breath before looking up at Zayn again. The eyelashes, the cheekbones, the newly exposed ink on his collarbone, they all conspired to utterly undo him. The ink-black flower on his left shoulder was gorgeous, but it obscured the ‘be true to who you are’ in Arabic script that Harry had always loved to press his mouth against. It had felt like a promise way back when, and now...

No. Now nothing mattered but that Zayn was here with Harry on the night before the London premiere of his first real film. And that he wanted Harry, just like he used to. 

When he'd finished opening the shirt, Zayn shrugged it off, letting it fall to the floor and exposing his tattooed upper body in all its glory. Like Harry’s own skin, there was always some new ink to attract attention, but all Harry cared about was getting to touch him, dragging hands over his chest and shoulders and neck, pulling him close for a kiss. 

It had been too long since they'd had a chance like this, fully alone and unhurried, and Zayn seemed to reflect that exact feeling in his slow, thorough kiss.

Nothing in Harry's life had ever been like kissing Zayn Malik, and he leaned into the pleasure, knowing from experience it could support him. There was so much to love about Zayn’s mouth and how he used it — so much that Harry would have been happy to simply kiss him for another hour, excepting of course the stubble burn that would result. Not a good look on the red carpet, even covered by makeup. 

Zayn was only ever so patient anyway, so it didn't take too long before he was grabbing at Harry, tugging his shirt off, touching his needy body, finding ways of fitting it with his own. 

“Fuck, Haz. You're so fucking lovely I could cry. Can I...?” Zayn’s hand was idly stroking Harry in a way that drove him mad, and the question he left hanging seemed to invite suggestions.

“Why the fuck aren't you naked, yet?” Harry whined by way of answering. 

“Because someone didn't finish his job,” Zayn said with a breathless chuckle. He gasped deliciously when Harry immediately unzipped him to remedy the situation. 

“Fucking hell,” Zayn breathed as Harry licked his own palm before stroking Zayn. “We can take all night, can't we? I don't wanna rush any of this.”

“I’ve got nothing to do but you, babe,” Harry said with a dimpled smirk. 

Zayn huffed as if annoyed, a failed attempt at hiding his amusement. 

“You don’t have to be home at some point, do you?” Harry asked, as it occurred to him Zayn wasn't a free agent like he used to be. 

Zayn’s eyes cut away from Harry's face, and his expression seemed furtive. 

Harry let go of Zayn and slouched back into the sofa. “Hang on. Does Gigi even know you’re here with me?” 

Zayn sighed heavily and moved to get off Harry’s lap. When Harry grasped his hips and wouldn’t let him, he gave up. He sort of deflated against Harry, forehead resting on his shoulder. Unsure of what this meant, Harry hesitantly wrapped his arms around Zayn’s waist.

“Let’s not, all right? Not now. She’s doing her thing and doesn’t mind that I’m out on me own.”

Softly, Harry kissed his neck and said, “But you’re not alone, Z. Won’t it hurt her if you don’t go home to her tonight?” He carried no ill will for Gigi; they’d all been put in this situation by fame and ambition and it didn’t allow for anyone winning.

“Not any more than normal.” Zayn lifted his head to look at Harry and pressed a hand to his cheek. “She knows I’m better when I get to see you. And she trusts you.”

“Trusts me how? Because what I want right now is for you to fucking ravish me, but you leaving her bed for mine can't be what she signed up for. Do what you want, but I don't think I can be a part of that.”

Zayn looked at him like his heart was rending in two. Those beautiful eyes. Harry could handle any sort of exposure except the penetrating gaze of Zayn Malik when he let down all his defenses and looked at Harry truly, those pools of deep emotion unclouded. 

Harry looked away. Naked as he was, he wasn’t ready to be stripped bare like that.   

Zayn abruptly stood up. 

Bereft, Harry reached out for him. “Please, Zayn. Don’t—”

He stepped back, out of range, and Harry’s heart clenched. “Look. I’m shit at this. She’s lovely and I care for her loads. But she and I both know she's not the one. And we’ve found our way to be where both of us can still breathe, and we’re... content. But then  _ you _ ...” He flailed a hand at Harry, naked and ready on the sofa. “God, look at you. I’m helpless. I need this — need you. It’s useless to pretend that you don’t do things to me, don't mean that much to me—” 

The crack in Zayn’s voice had Harry on his feet in a moment, hands on Zayn’s shoulders, his neck, his jaw, his back, lips on his forehead, temple, cheek, tears. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I know, love. I’m here. I got you. It’s all right. We’ve got this.” 

They stood like that for a bit, Zayn gradually calming in Harry’s arms, Harry making himself focus on nothing but the feel of Zayn right where he belonged — his heartbeat, his breath, his being. This felt exactly right. Nothing else mattered.

“Fuck.” Zayn sniffed wetly and took a deep, steadying breath. “Bollocked that royally, eh? Came to seduce you in your hotel room like old times and right off I fucking lose the plot.” 

A defeated smirk tugged at Harry’s lips. He’d been the one to derail everything, but he hadn’t seen Zayn in months and hadn't been remotely prepared for a seduction of this sort. “Well, I wasn’t really playing fair, honestly.”

“Bloody hell, Haz. Threw me right off, you did, looking like that when I walked in— half debauched, half asking for it. It was like you were waiting for me. ‘I’m ready for my close-up, Mister Demille.’” Zayn’s girl-voice was ragged with tears and broken by a smile, which made it perfect. “Now you’re an actor, you’ll be a full-blown diva, won’t you?”

Harry huffed prettily and tossed his hair — well, his head, which would have made his hair flow back from his face if he’d still had all of it. “I don’t know  _ what _ you mean.”

“C’mere, beautiful.” Zayn wrapped one strong arm around Harry’s waist and with a free hand brushed at his temple, curling his fingers around Harry’s ear as if tucking a stray lock behind it. The muscle memory hit Harry hard and made his breath catch.  _ Yes. God yes. That feels so right. _

“Fucking gorgeous, you are. Pretty as a picture. You belong in films, babe. Your face ten feet tall and luminous. Those dimples...” And he kissed them each reverently as Harry giggled, lightheaded with the compliments and how lovely they made him feel. Zayn had always been able to do that — to see that what Harry needed was to feel beautiful sometimes, to be treated as such. It was the most amazing gift.

“You coming to the premiere tomorrow? I’ve got a ticket for you. Can’t get you on the red carpet, sadly. I’ve got to go stag like the rest of the unmarried guys, but find me after?”

Zayn winced. “Got a ticket for Gigi, too? It would make everything easier, and she’d love to support you, obviously.”

“Yeah, of course. Yeah. Absolutely.” Harry swallowed, and the hole that had gaped open in his gut slowly closed again. Zayn was right; that was the solution. Didn’t stop it from feeling sort of awful. 

“Perfect. No more talk of that, now. Eh? Just...” Zayn’s hands slid down the dip of Harry’s back and cupped his arse, pulling their hips together, Then his lips were against Harry’s ear, then his jaw, then his neck, shoulder, collarbone... 

“Bed. Now,” he breathed. 

“Yeah.” Zayn guided them into the bedroom, Harry mostly walking backward, but trusting Zayn’s hands on him to direct him the right way. He hadn’t felt so safe in ages.

 

~

 

In the end, they didn’t spend much time with the actual seduction bit. Harry was too knackered for much more than hands and mouths and their two bodies pressed together like they could become one. Because for Harry, it wasn’t about the sex so much as the intimacy — the being together away from prying eyes, being able to touch Zayn when and how he wanted, getting his man to moan and pant and utter his name like a prayer, like a plea, like a hallelujah. 

Zayn made a right mess of the lovely sheets, as did Harry, and they both were sweaty and out of breath by the time they collapsed onto each other to bask in their mutual glow. Though it must have quickly become obvious to Zayn that Harry was nodding off due to more than post-orgasmic daze. 

“Oi. Am I boring you, darling?” Zayn’s voice had enough humour in it that Harry knew he wasn’t in trouble, but still.

He pried his eyelids open in worry, nonetheless. “What? Never! I’m just so sleepy. Please, babe. I can’t stay awake long enough to have another go. I’m sorry. Can we just...” He curled up against Zayn’s chest and nuzzled his neck, inhaling his scent.  _ Smells like home. _

Harry sighed contentedly. “Missed this.”

“You are such a cuddle bunny, it’s incredible.” Zayn kissed his hair and wrapped his arms tightly around Harry, which was possibly the thing in Harry’s life that made him feel the most cared for. “How did I end up with such a sweet creature as you?”

Harry’s soft smile pressed against Zayn’s skin. “You know how.” 

“Yeah, all right, I do. But how is it  _ you _ ended up with the single, then?” Zayn poked Harry’s side, making him twitch away and laugh. 

“I thought of it first.”

“So, is the song about me, then? Eh?” Zayn poked again, tickling on purpose this time, and Harry grabbed for his finger.

“C’mon. Not in bed, I’m tired. We can roughhouse in the morning if you need to let off steam.” 

“Fine,” Zayn huffed. “Didn’t answer the question, though.”

Harry’s heartbeat ticked up a notch, and he was sure Zayn could feel it against his own chest. “Well, only sort of.” He raised his head to look at Zayn, thoughtful. “Using the nickname you gave me for the other person in the song meant I was sort of singing to your version of me. But I wasn’t trying to sing as you, if that makes sense. I dunno. Yeah. It’s about how I feel when we’re together like this, and how I think Taylor must have felt, a bit, when we were both on the road. And... I guess...”

“So it’s an ode to your soft side? To Harriet?” 

Harry buried his face in Zayn’s chest. “God, did you see that horrid interview with Chelsea? What a disaster.”

Zayn kissed his hair instead of assenting. “The sexual attraction question was...”

“A bleeding trap.” Zayn squeezed him tight and he let out a heavy breath. “But yes. Singing to myself and singing to you aren’t quite the same thing, but... yeah. I dunno. I feel less lonely, singing to my sweet creature. I suppose I just needed a genderless love song, you know? Whether it was to myself or by proxy to you, it was necessary. For reasons.” He shrugged as if the reasons were inconsequential instead of vital.

“Right. Non-binary reasons. So your non-binary nickname fits. Fair enough.” Zayn combed his fingers through Harry’s hair and it felt like being forgiven. 

“You’re not angry, then?” He finally got up the courage to look at Zayn’s face. It was so kind and had such a loving expression Harry was near tears. It was never easy talking about this stuff, but Zayn never made it harder, and for that Harry was infinitely grateful.

“Nah. I was flattered, until I worried you’d actually started using the name for someone else.”

“Never. It’s all mine.” Harry smiled up at him and Zayn favoured him with a sweet kiss. 

“Yes, it is.” Another quick kiss, with Zayn’s hand deep in Harry’s curls, palm resting at the base of his skull. Harry closed his eyes to revel in the moment.

“Yes. And yours.” 

Harry meant that the nickname was Zayn’s to use for him, but possibly he also meant that Zayn, too, was a sweet creature. Or maybe what he was saying was that he, Harry, was Zayn’s. And maybe he would have said all these things if he hadn’t drifted off just then. Or maybe he’d tried to say them and Zayn had just chuckled and told him to sleep. 

 

~

 

Either way, the next morning came to Harry as a soft glow of grey light, soft pillows, soft breath on his neck, and a hard body pressed up against his back with strong arms curled around him. What a blissful way to wake. He sighed, more contented and well-rested than he’d been in months. 

And then Zayn shifted closer in his sleep, and Harry couldn't help but chuckle at being poked in the backside. 

“Oi, prick.” 

Zayn snuffled and grunted and pushed closer and Harry felt a nudge against his arse that seemed intentional. 

“Yes, that's what I'm saying.”

“Hmm?” Zayn’s hips pressed forward once again, deliberate as fuck, and he mumbled, “What was that about my prick, darling?”

“It’s being insistent. Very nearly making a nuisance of itself.” Harry couldn't keep the laugh out of his voice. 

“Is it now? I'm sorry to hear that. Would you like to turn over and plague me with yours? Hmm? I know you're interested.” He pressed his hand to Harry’s chest, just over his heart, and Harry had no doubt he could feel its heavy beat. Then, slowly, his hand started stroking Harry’s chest and belly, moving its way down to his pelvic region, and Harry smiled as Zayn oh-so-casually brushed against his swiftly hardening cock. 

“And you’re determined to make me more-so, I see.” Harry turned his head enough to catch the mischievous sparkle in Zayn’s eye, and attempted to give him a stern look. 

A casual shrug from Zayn nearly made Harry break out in a giggle. “What else are we gonna do, lie here and talk about our feelings?” 

“Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it, boy-o,” Harry quipped. A long-standing debate had gone on within the band about whether they spent too much or too little time talking about things that really mattered to them. It had been an even split between the other four and Harry tended to be the tie-breaker, but he was nearly always a proponent of more time being spent on feelings. Maybe it was having been raised with women. Maybe it was feeling more like one than the rest of the boys. Either way, his comment made Zayn, a staunch supporter of the other side, snort in amusement. 

“This isn’t a sleepover, it’s a booty call.” Zayn punctuated his question with a pointed thrust of his hips. 

Harry hummed in pleasure at the feeling of Zayn’s prick sliding between his thighs, then gasped softly as Zayn took him in hand and stroked him as deftly as he must stroke himself. “Ohmyfucking—  _ God, _ Z. I...” He lost the power of speech before he confessed that he’d let Zayn do whatever he pleased, whenever he felt like it, as long as he got Harry off like this every morning.

Zayn was getting worked up as well, whispering sweet and filthy nothings in Harry’s ear. “You, my darling Hazza, are the most delicious confection I’ve ever had the pleasure to fuck. I could eat up every inch of you, every meal of the day. Come on, love.You've been holding out on me. Give me a taste of that sweetness. Come for me now then fill me up so good it makes me cry. I’ve been needing your cock inside me so bad. Go on, babydoll. Show me what I’ve been missing for so long.”

Harry paused in turning his head toward Zayn’s, a filthy response dying on his tongue in sudden realisation.  _ Booty call. Need your cock. Holding out on me.  _ “Is that... is that the reason you're here? Is that the thing you miss?”

“Miss?” At Harry’s hard tone of voice, Zayn paused in his movements and hooked his chin over Harry’s shoulder to nuzzle his ear. “I miss this. Us. Waking up in bed together. Morning sex. You feel so fucking good.” His free arm tightened around Harry’s torso for a moment; it felt strangely constricting. 

Harry was distracted by Zayn’s hard prick still nudging against his bollocks, but he wasn’t going to let this go until he got the truth. “Not just in it for my cock, then?” Harry said pointedly, calling attention to Zayn’s hand still loosely encircling the appendage in question.

“You know I love your cock. It’s so pretty, Haz. Have I told you that recently? Prettiest prick in the band.” Zayn’s nose was buried in the too-short curls at Harry’s neck, and the tickle of it was suddenly sharp, unwelcome. 

“So that’s it. You’re here just because you miss getting dicked down, eh? Don’t bother. I’m sure there are a plethora of boys who would line up to do that for you if it’s all you need.” 

“What??” Zayn pulled himself up enough to rest on his elbow and then bent over Harry to make eye contact. “You think I came to spend the night in your bed because you have a cock?”

“Well? I do manage to have that advantage over Gigi, after all.”

“If I was happy with Gigi and just needed dick I’d let her peg me with one of her fucking dildos. Jesus, Harry, what is this? You don’t talk like this. Is it because of the male language? I’ll use whatever words you want, baby. I’m sorry.” Zayn looked legitimately upset, and was being so understanding, it frightened Harry and he just sort of broke open.

“I... fuck. I dunno. I’m all twisted round over this.” He risked caressing Zayn’s stubbly cheek, expecting him to pull away, but instead he leaned into the touch, and Harry couldn’t hold together anymore, letting the words just fall out of his mouth. “I don’t care what words you use because I know you can see me just as I do. But I don’t know how to think about you — me and you — since you’ve got her and I’ve got nothing but a few tattoos and only a memory of you always next to me when I wanted you. It’s been so long since then, and I don’t see this in-between life ending anytime soon. You... we fit together too well for this sort of life. But I don’t know how to remove the obstacles to having you whenever I need you. Which is always. I’d be so good, so much better, if I could have you here with me. I’d be good for you, too, I promise. I just...” 

He trailed off, finally registering the look on Zayn’s face and knowing he must have said something either tragically wrong or a little too right. Either way he'd said too much. Brushing his knuckles down Zayn’s cheek and along his jaw, he whispered, “Z, baby? You okay?”

Zayn cleared his throat, then nodded instead of answering. He looked deeply into Harry’s eyes, eyebrows up in a ‘pay attention’ sort of look, then pulled away to reach for the bedside table. Harry shivered as cold air rushed over the parts of him which had been pressed up against Zayn’s warm body. 

When he snuggled close again, Zayn had something in his hand that looked like the necklace he’d worn last night. Unsurprisingly, it had one of their matching rings threaded on the chain. But it also had something else smaller, thinner, more... gold? 

“Our publicist wants me to give this to Gigi and for her to wear it on her ring finger. As, like, a teaser to the media. They all think there should be an announcement soon. She and I both decided that wasn’t a good idea.” He unhooked the chain and slid the delicate band of gold off, cradling it in the palm of his hand. “I’ve been wearing it next to your ring for a couple weeks, and maybe that’s what brought me here last night, I dunno, but I guess I’m asking you if you’d wear it?”

Harry couldn’t speak. Not until he remembered how to breathe, which took him a moment. “Wear it? Where? And how, exactly? I mean, what would it mean?”

Zayn shrugged a shoulder. “I dunno. What do you want it to mean?” Harry just looked at him. He sighed. “I mean,  _ I  _ want it to mean that you and I... that we want to make a go of it. That we stop talking about our separate half-lives, and instead say ‘our life,’ Whole and complete, together. That we figure out how to, you know...” 

He shrugged that left shoulder again and Harry’s fingers found the inked Arabic along his collarbone. “Be true to who we are.” 

Zayn nodded. “And who we are is each other’s, no?” 

“Yes.” Harry smiled so wide his face hurt.  _ Worth it. _

The ring only went over the second knuckle of his pinky finger, but no piece of jewelry had ever fit him better. 

**Author's Note:**

> the interview referenced is this one: [One Word Answers with Harry Styles by Chelsea on Netflix](https://www.facebook.com/plugins/video.php?href=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.facebook.com%2FChelseaShow%2Fvideos%2F1952449021653600%2F&show_text=0&width=560)


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